


Try a Little Tenderness

by Sheepnamedpig



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Biting, Bottom Derek, Bottom Derek Hale, Established Relationship, Fluff, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Praise Kink, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-31
Updated: 2015-07-31
Packaged: 2018-04-12 05:39:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4467425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sheepnamedpig/pseuds/Sheepnamedpig
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When your boy gets weary, try a little skin time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Try a Little Tenderness

It had been a long case. A child abduction, followed by a frantic investigation, a hair-thin lead that panned out into the desperate manhunt of a human trafficking ring, the police racing to get to the perps before mob justice did. So Derek feels a little justified in toppling into bed fully clothed, reeking of dust and gunpowder with his shoes still on.

He wakes some indeterminate number of hours later, shoes off, tucked into bed wearing pajamas he has no memory of putting on. The muted sounds of the TV filter through the walls.

Stiles.

Derek flops out an arm and drags Stiles' pillow to him, curling around it to breathe in the Stiles-smell of cheap shampoo, sweat, and cheese dust.

He must fall asleep again, because the next thing he knows is waking up to Stiles combing his fingers through Derek's hair, bitten-down nails scratching his scalp in long strokes.

“Wakey wakey, artichokey,” Stiles coos.

Derek grunts and mumbles into Stiles' pillow.

“Speak up, boo.”

“That doesn't rhyme, idiot. It's supposed to be 'eggs and bakey'.”

“And spoil my surprise breakfast?” Stiles asks, nudging Derek. “Speaking of the deviled eggs, c'mon. Brekkie's getting cold.”

Derek grunts and burrows into the pillows. “No.”

Stiles sighs. “I'm sure as hell not bringing it in here. No food in bed was _your_ rule, too, asshole, so be a little more grateful.”

“ _No_ ,” Derek says petulantly. He pulls the covers up over his head.

Stiles is quiet for a moment. Derek waits.

“Derek Jacob Hale, you get your ungrateful butt out of bed or you can forget about breakfast _and_ lunch,” Stiles says, low and terse.

Derek grumbles but goes, dragging himself out of the warm, cozy confines of the bed.

Stiles grabs him by the nape and gives him a rough shake. “Behave,” he warns.

“Yes, Stiles,” Derek says sulkily. Still, he sits at the table and obediently eats his eggs and bacon and the stack of waffles piled high with strawberries from that one farm way out on the edge of town. The freshly-squeezed orange juice is cool and crisp and pulp-free, just the way Derek likes it. It's worth getting out of bed for.

“All done?” Stiles asks, sipping idly at his milk. Derek nods. “Go turn on the shower and get undressed. You still smell like gunpowder.”

Derek intercepts Stiles as he's taking their plates to the sink. He hugs Stiles around the waist and rubs his face against Stiles' shoulder. “Thank you.”

Stiles kisses his temple. “You're welcome. You earned it for tracking down all those leads.”

Derek's toes curl in pleasure and he squeezes Stiles' waist tighter.

“Shower, baby. I'll be there in a minute.”

Derek leaves the door open as he gets into the shower, listening to the clatter of dishes over the rush of water streaming over his shoulders and down his back. The heat sinks into the stress-induced knots that have developed over the past few weeks, loosening them. His chin sinks down toward his chest and the water streams over his neck, dripping in rivulets down his chest. He lets himself drift, lulled by the heat and the thrumming pressure of water beating against his skin until the shower door opens and Stiles steps in with him.

Stiles tips Derek's chin up and kisses him. “Hey there, anyone home?”

Derek scrunches up his face and Stiles laughs.

“Can we go back to bed?” Derek whines.

“Wash first,” Stiles scolds gently. “Want me to wash you?”

Derek nods eagerly.

Stiles cups Derek's cheeks and gives his head a shake. “Spoiled brat. You're lucky you're cute. I'll wash you, but if you can't stand still, then you have to wash yourself, got it?”

Derek hugs Stiles again, leaning into him with the knowledge that Stiles will never let him fall. “Okay.”

To his credit, Derek stands mostly still, only ever squirming to provoke Stiles into swatting his bottom with a slap that's more bark than bite.

“Is that how it's gonna be, brat?” Stiles asks, tipping Derek's face into the spray to sluice soapy bubbles off his face. He nips Derek on the shoulder, a warning bite. Derek ruts shamelessly against Stiles. “Gonna make me work for it, huh?”

With water streaming over his face, Derek can only smirk blindly in Stiles' direction, so he doesn't see Stiles craning his neck to bite Derek hard on the corded muscle of his neck. Derek squeaks in surprise. His cock, already hard and aching for friction, throbs with heat.

“Just for that, you're drying yourself off--”

“Nooo,” Derek whines.

“Ah! You want me to dry you off, you gotta be good and follow directions.”

“I can be good.”

“I know you can,” Stiles says, swiping the last of the soap off Derek's skin. “Which is why you're gonna dry off and wait in bed while I finish up.”

Derek leans against Stiles again, not wanting to go out alone, but he obediently steps out of the shower and begins to wipe himself down. The bed is still a mess from before, the sheets askew and pleasantly cool against his shower-hot skin. He sprawls indolently, one leg hooked over a mound of comforter.

Their bedroom is dim, the north-facing windows only letting a faint, indirect light shine past the edges of their curtains. If Derek looks into the bathroom, he can see flashes of movement in the mirror as Stiles showers. But if Derek looks at the desk in the corner of the room, he can see an explosion of papers and photos and colored yarn, the detritus of the human trafficking case that they'd worked on together. They'd both been at the bust the previous day, half the Sheriff's department, the local police, and a SWAT team surrounding a plain suburban home in a mostly uninhabited residential development that never filled in after the housing market crashed. Stiles must've stayed up to tuck Derek into bed, then gotten up early to make breakfast even though he had to have been exhausted as Derek was (and still somewhat is).

Derek gets up and turns the sheets down properly, then goes to the desk to start unpinning the colorful cobweb of yarn. He's stacking the photos together when Stiles comes out of the bathroom.

“I thought I told you to wait in bed,” Stiles says, scrubbing his hair dry with an inscrutable expression.

Derek puts the photos down. “I wanted to help,” he says contritely.

Stiles drops the towel into the hamper and crosses the bedroom to cup Derek's face and nape. “That's so sweet of you, boo, but you didn't have to. Got Dad to give us the day off,” he says. He turns Derek's face so he can press a kiss to the soft indent just under Derek's ear. “I intend to use it to make you scream yourself hoarse.”

Derek shivers and arches against Stiles. His skin is still hot and damp from his shower, a delicious contrast to the cool bedroom air. Stiles' hands slide from Derek's nape and cheek down to his rear, cupping and squeezing the firm, generous muscle.

“Now why don't you hop onto the bed, face down. I've had to watch this booty running around in khaki slacks for weeks and if I don't get my mouth on it right now I think I'll die.” Stiles punctuates it with a sharp squeeze and a rolling hip grind that presses their dicks together in the most delicious way.

“I can help with that,” Derek says dazedly, and obediently crawls onto the bed, flopping onto his front with his legs splayed wide.

Stiles trails a palm up the back of Derek's leg as he climbs between Derek's legs. “You're always so helpful,” he says. He leans down to kiss the juncture of thigh and ass. “I think you're everyone's favorite deputy, mine and Dad's too.”

Derek buries his face in Stiles' pillow and fights the urge to squirm. Meanwhile, Stiles palms Derek's ass cheeks, squeezing and spreading them to reveal the pink pucker in between.

“You're so popular that I think if you ran for Sheriff, you could give Dad a good run for his money.”

Derek shakes his head into the pillow. Stiles licks a brisk stripe over Derek's hole and he yelps, hips jerking in Stiles' grasp.

“What, you don't think people would vote for a cop they know from experience is as kind as you are? Not many people trust the cops these days, but they trust you.”

Derek's feet kick and splay against the sheets and he arches, hips rutting against the mattress. Stiles drags him up to his knees and dives in, flicking the tip of his tongue over Derek's hole. The sheets are too smooth, too flush with the mattress for Derek's curling toes to find purchase as he pushes up and back into Stiles' mouth.

Stiles is as unpredictable with his technique as he is in all other things, switching randomly between long, lingering strokes with the flat of his tongue and the borderline painful scrape of teeth as he nips his way down Derek's perineum and back up again to prod the twitching pucker with the tip of his tongue. More than once his mouth wanders to the meat of Derek's ass and his devilish fingers take its place, spit-slicked fingertips prying Derek's tight entrance open one long finger at a time. Derek pushes back into all of it as best as Stiles will allow him to, moaning and gasping his appreciation.

“Fuck,” Stiles gasps, coming up for air, winded like he's the one who's being rimmed to death. “You drive me fucking crazy, the way you get so hot for it literally _every time_. You make me go out of my damn _mind_.”

Derek, tomato red all the way down his chest, reaches back and grips his own ass cheeks, holding them open to reveal his spit-shiny crease.

“Holy fucking god,” Stiles moans. He presses the heels of his hands to his eyes, getting himself back under control. His cock, flushed red and utterly neglected, squeezes out a bead of pre-come. “You're going to kill me. I am literally going to die.”

He peeks under the edge of his palm. Derek is grinning, far too smug for a guy getting his ass eaten.

“But if I'm going, I'm going out with a bang and taking you with me,” he says, and dives back in, holding Derek open with his fingers as he flicks and laps around the twitching rim with his tongue. Derek chokes out a moan, his grip on his ass slipping as he loses track of every part of his body that isn't his hole and its immediate environs. Stiles' fingers pull and wiggle and press Derek's rim and the soft tissues inside. Each haphazard glance over Derek's prostate triggers a burst of heat deep in Derek's groin, so good and right but _not enough_. He tries to chase the perfect angle, grinding his hips back on Stiles' fingers, but it's like trying to chase the wind.

“More,” he begs. “Fuck me!”

Stiles' fingers abruptly still. “No.”

Derek whines. “Please!”

“I said _no_ ,” Stiles says, pulling his fingers out. He knee walks up the bed to paw through the bedside table drawer. “You get what I give you, remember?”

Derek growls testily into a pillow. He nods, begrudgingly.

Stiles heaves a sigh and shoves Derek down to lay on his side, sitting down next to him. “You've been giving me attitude all morning. What's up with that, huh?”

Derek wraps his arms around Stiles' waist, curling as much of his body into Stiles' lap as he can. Stiles threads his fingers into Derek's damp hair.

“What's eating you, bud? Aside from me.”

Derek mumbles into Stiles' thigh.

“Audible words, please 'kay thanks. Language and communication are things that are useful.”

“I missed you,” Derek says.

Stiles nods. “We were pretty busy, running all over the county.” He smirks. “Did your butt miss me too?”

“Ugh,” Derek grunts. “Fuck you.”

“I think you mean fuck _you_ ,” Stiles cackles, tackling Derek. They wrestle, rolling back and forth on the bed, pinning and rutting against each other, tickling and laughing and trading breathless kisses as they work through the skin hunger that's built up over the weeks they were too wrapped up in work to enjoy the simple pleasure of each other's (naked) company. The stress of the long investigation slips away and they lie tangled together, Derek draped over Stiles.

“I missed this too,” Stiles says.

Derek smiles and kisses him.

Stiles pokes him. “Hey. Hey, let's make love.”

“Ugh.” Derek puts his hand on Stiles' face.

“No, c'mon, let's make luuuurrrrve. Oh, he may be weary, good boys they do get weary, chasin' thoserare, elusiveleeeaaaads,” Stiles warbles.

“Shut up!” Derek says, his scowl barely covering the laughter bubbling up. Stiles slaps away his hands when he tries to cover Stiles' stupid mouth.

“But when he gets weary, try a little tenderneeeeess, yeah yeah,” Stiles croons.

“Mercy!” Derek begs, laughing as Stiles rolls them over and sits up between Derek's legs, _lalala_ -ing his way through the song where he can't remember the lyrics. He covers his face, since Stiles' is out of reach, and is caught off guard for the second time when Stiles presses lubed fingers against his hole, still serenading.

“You're a menace,” he gasps.

Stiles winks, still singing, and his fingers glide right into Derek, who's still loose from being rimmed and fingered.

“Why do I put up with you?” Derek asks, grinding down on Stiles' slippery fingers.

“Try a little tenderneeeess,” Stiles sings. He leans down and presses a chaste kiss to the center of Derek's chest, and under the breastbone, Derek's heart squeezes tightly, smothered by all the soft, warm, tender emotions he feels for his idiot.

“Please,” he says. “Please, would you--”

“Okay,” Stiles says. He gets an arm under one of Derek's legs, rolling him in on himself enough to be able to guide his cock to Derek's entrance. It's been weeks since they last had sex, but Derek's been greedy for it from day one and opens eagerly for Stiles' cock, eyes sliding shut as a groan rolls up from deep in his chest. The stretch burns just right, a prelude to the fullness that slowly eclipses it and the friction of Stiles' shallow thrusts as he works his cock in deeper.

“You're so warm inside,” Stiles says dreamily. His hips press flush against Derek's ass. Derek wraps his legs around Stiles' narrow waist to keep him close. He loves this part, maybe even more than the actual act of getting fucked, because there's nothing quite like that first stretch of his ass around a cock and the pressure of his body adapting to the intrusion until his body learns to welcome and cradle it. Stiles, aware of this, rolls his hips in a slow, steady grind.

“Gimme your knees,” Stiles says. Derek obeys, unwinding his legs from around Stiles to let himself be folded near in half, baring his ass and letting Stiles sink even deeper. “Hold them. There's a good boy.”

Derek keens, head thrown back as he holds his knees to his chest. Stiles braces himself and begins a slow, sinuous roll that makes Derek feel every square millimeter of his cock as it fills him up, then retreats, only to fill him up again. Derek wants to reach for him and hold him still to stop that feeling of emptiness from coming back, but he wants to be _good_ for Stiles, _so good_ , so he holds onto his knees and just takes what Stiles gives to him. He takes the endlessly long strokes of Stiles' cock and the aching emptiness when Stiles pulls out to teasingly breach without follow through. He takes it and takes it because it makes Stiles murmur over and over about how good he is, how sweet and warm and tight and kind he is and how perfectly they fit together, even when their rough edges chafe.

“Stiles,” Derek gasps, when he's sure he can't take another moment of it. “Please--”

“I love watching you like this,” Stiles says. “You—you want it so bad, and when you're like this your dick leaks all over. I wish I could do this forever so I could see you like this always.”

Derek's toes curl in tight and he clenches around Stiles' cock, since he has no leverage to push back.

“Please--!”

“Okay,” Stiles says. He pulls out, which _no_ , that's not what Derek needs. “No, okay, here, on your knees, baby.”

He rolls Derek over, pulls him up to his knees, and kneels behind him, pressing his cock back in. Stiles' cock doesn't go as deep as before, but the angle drives right into Derek's prostate with each thrust, pushing a cry out of him with each nova of heat and pleasure that bursts outward from deep in his pelvis. Stiles' long-fingered hands grasp and caress all of Derek within their reach, from cheek to thigh and every place in between.

Every place except Derek's cock.

He frames it with his fingers, palms flat on Derek's hips and fingertips dipping between Derek's thighs, but he never touches it. Derek watches his cock sway in time to their rhythm, pre-come dripping from the tip in a steady stream.

“Touch me,” he begs. He puts his hands over Stiles', and tugs at them, but they only move further from his cock, gripping Derek's hips instead.

“No, baby,” Stiles murmurs into Derek's ear. “You come on my cock. I know you can.”

And that's true, Derek can, Derek _has_. But he needs—he needs—

Stiles puts his hand on Derek's nape and pushes down, pushes him up the bed until he's bracing himself against the headboard with Stiles as deep in him as he can go.

And then he _ruts_. With both hands gripping Derek's shoulders, he grinds deep and hard, only pulling out just far enough for short, brutal thrusts that make the slap of their skin echo like gunshots in the quiet of their bedroom. Derek shouts as he's repeatedly hammered into the headboard.

The tension that's been teasing him begins coiling in earnest as friction and pressure and force reverberate through his ass and cock and all the sensation-rich tissues in between. His balls pull up tight to his cock. Stiles leans into him harder with every brutal thrust, his hands pressing bruises into the crests of Derek's hips.

It's _just right_ , and Derek wants to--

“ _Come_ ,” Stiles snarls.

\--and Derek _comes_.

  



End file.
